Pretty Things in Dirty Cages
by Missbexiee
Summary: A Prison!AU in which our Dragon Age boys all find themselves behind bars for various reasons. After a particular "public protest" Anders finds himself in this strange new world having to figure out how things work, who to befriend and if the clock ever moves. Along the way, relationships are created, fights are fought and everyone ends up learning something more about themselves.
1. Fresh Meat - I

**Yooooo. New story! ****This is 100% inspired by the lovely Cyanopsis on Tumblr (also known as Anderfeelsy)****. Seriously, all these ideas, all this plot is because I was able to bounce ideas off of them (and they came up with the whole thing and supplied A TON of awesome prisonAU inspired art - go check it out!) I look forward to writing more for this and know exactly where our plot is going. **

**Warnings**** (I will do this per chapter as it does change frequently): derogatory language**

**A/N**:** After lots of research on prisons it's clear there's a big racial segregation that takes place. This idea does not reflect my own view on the races in Dragon Age whatsoever... I wrote it this way to capture the most authentic prison experience. **

**Enjoy. :)**

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Small flames, then large claws that waned and leaned out to engulf him. The smell was noxious, burning, papers, foods, plastics, rubbers. It wafted in the building, thick blackness compressing into the ceiling. The man ran, through the building, down stairs and into the lobby where the fire itched to spread.

He took too long. Sat. Admired his work. There was a mission that constantly repeated in his head, this reverberating noise, an idea that by removing this building from the city map no harm would ever befall those he strived to protect. No more of the downtrodden he works to feed, clothe, heal need fear being locked up for sleeping where they do - no more women and children forced to sell themselves because their lovers are incarcerated to a cruel system.

The man coughed, smoke wrapping itself around his lungs, settling near the very bottom. He had tried the exit in the back of the building but the chock he had placed before entering had given out and the door was now locked for good. Sirens blared from an outside world and life as he knew it took a halt. Either he would now die here or face what was coming to him later.

Heart already racing he looked for an exit, anywhere, windows, secret passages - anything. Anything so he wouldn't have to walk out those main doors. Circling lights mixed with the flames as the vehicles rushed near the plaza outside. The smoke now blackened his vision. He stumbled, pushing into tables, chairs.

So much stuck in his throat, so much choking him till he couldn't breathe. Floorboards creaked under him as he felt a cold plane of glass shielded in soot. He wiped at it, rubbed it till the skin on his hand began to break - faintly he could make out figures circling the building unsure of where to begin as they lugged big snakes of cord behind them - water hoses.

Energy seeped out of him and only seemed to fuel the fire lapping at his uncovered ankles as his fists pounded, angrily, desperately on the glass. He wished to scream, to let them save him regardless of the consequences he would face. In the case of fight or flight he wished to flee - he would be a coward even if it damned him, human instinct kicked in and he knew he wanted to live.

Tears, evaporating to his cheeks as they fell, seemed out of place - innocent in this place as if they had no relatable role in their creator's demise. But he himself did have a role here. He had set fire to it all, playing with wires, throwing volatile bottles of alcohol into rooms as he ran past with hurried breath. Now it was all frivolous, the cause he passionately fought for lost in the deepest reserves of his mind as panic set in. There was a pounding on the glass not of his own, and he heard it shatter not far from him.

Shouting, noises so loud they made his ears bleed. He tried to shout back, but couldn't, voice lost amongst the roar of fire. Water jetted into the building, crushing the heat as men fought back, entering rooms deliberately closed with flames seeping through. They paid no heed to the man, perhaps not even noticing him as he sank to the ground where the air was at least a little more abundant.

The room swayed around the man, it was dark, fire only in the distant hallways as men ran past him. Someone must have grabbed him, dragged him away. His eyes must have eventually been sewn shut from the reality. He was driven away from the scene of the crime - sat in the back of an ambulance with people fussing over him, pumping oxygen into him and cleaning the bloodied marks that ran across his body.

"Did you do it?"

The lawyer provided to him was kind enough, talking sweetly with the man who was safely bound to hospital bed. His face was wrapped with a thick gauze, burns puffed out on his wrists and ankles. Doctors had ordered him to be quiet, not to speak while his lungs and throat healed from searing.

"I did," it was a croak, a disgusting mangling of what should be a human voice, "I set it on fire."

"You shouldn't," his lawyer, man by the name of Jowan, stiffened slightly as he softened his voice, "you shouldn't say that so loudly."

"I want them to know," there was a level of deep anger ridden underneath the words, "I burnt down their establishment because they abuse their power. They needed," a cough overtook him and his lungs raged as he worked the bug out of his system, "they needed to know they're not untouchable."

The pair stared at each other. A man starting out his career as a lawyer and another about to sign his life away by admitting his guilt. Jowan could not so easily secede, "I haven't tried this before… but we could wait for them to go through with a trial - arson cases usually have little evidence to pull from because, well, it's usually burnt."

By this point his client was too struck by pain to care - he waved the lawyer away, thinking none of it. Officers stood outside his room - hateful pricks who abused their power. All of them. Even the doctors, who should care more about healing than money would end up slapping him with a heavy fee for this visit. It wasn't fair. This is what needed to stop.

He felt a hand on his face and forced his eyes open, "J-Justice."

"You've seen better days."

Pain shot him through the gut like a bullet as he tried to sit up to face his guest, "I," there were so many things he wanted to say. This was the only person who had ever tried to understand him, and he was terrified of disappointing him, "I'm sorry. It just… it-"

"- it had to be done," he finished for him, "I understand, Anders."

Justice had used his preferred nickname. It was at the point in his life that Anders didn't even recognize his birth name if it was used. He and Justice were good like that. Long ago, he should have referred to the man as he was, as dad. But experience told him at the time it wouldn't last - that just like all the other families Anders would either run away or he'd be thrown out.

Him and Justice had done neither, and it was a nice change… while it lasted.

"I, um," the words that were usually crisp and strong on the elder man's voice were now faltering as he scratched the back of his head, "I tried to pay the bail, but," he shook his head, not wanting to admit his failure.

"It's fine," Anders looked up and tried to smile. Whatever would happen, would happen. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he forced his attention to the wall before him, "I know money is tight."

Justice sat, moving the chair next to Anders and laying his hand gently on his arm, mindful of the fresh wounds, "It's not fair. Fuck those guys that can just pay their way out of everything. Society is always-"

"-trying to oppress the oppressed," Anders smiled as he turned to face his company, "I've heard this speech before, Justice."

There was a proud smirk on his lips, "Good. I just wish," he paused, "I just hope it wasn't me that caused you to do what you did… you could have been killed."

"I can die just as easily walking to the shelter everyday, just as easily when I leave the library, when I sit down to eat. Death is inevitable - I just want to make now better and not worry about what will happen in the future because," his voice started to give out again and that mangled sound came through again, "hopefully it will be better then."

"You sound like shit," a water bottle was placed to his lips, "Drink."

Anders followed the command and sighed, looking out the window to his right, sunlight streaming in and casting haunting shadows on the curtains surrounding his bed. He was suddenly weak, a switch was flipped and now a grown man reduced to that of a terrified child in a matter of seconds. Tears began to well up as his breathing quickened, "Justice," it was such a small voice, such a stupid, pitiful voice, "what's going to happen?"

The man was not one for physical contact but sensing he was needed as less of his own person and more of a father figure he moved to lean his head on Anders' arm, "I don't know."

And he didn't. He really didn't know what lay in store for this young boy who had so much of his life ruined by society's ignorance. Anders had never deserved the life he was given, and in Justice's mind the boy was completely justified in trying to break that system. They sat like that for a while. No soothing words could ease the panic setting in. No talk of dates and court pleas were able to cull his anxiety.

He was being pulled into a suit, someone patting down his matted hair, shaving his chin so it wasn't so wild and guilt-laden. Those hands were familiar and gentle. Jowan paced the room, possibly more terrified than his charge.

And then the accusations flew. He's a maniac. A terrorist. Why else would he try to injure others? Is he stupid? Retarded? The questions were quick, bitter. His responses helped nothing, his testimonies of life on the streets as a poorer member of society only met with stronger opposition. Jowan attempted to quiet him repeatedly as Anders practically made his guilt known - but the man used to trial as a political forum. Speaking loudly to the judge, the jury, the audience filled with reporters and people who claimed to know him.

He argued with himself, even as no questions were asked. Speaking passionately about the poor and their rights and how places like this, the temporary courthouse, were prone to abusing their power. His emotions drove him to tears, not out of fear, but out of anger. This was a televised case for the city, people would watch, people would hear him and he damn well wanted them to.

No response was given to the evidence they provided against him, and it was plentiful. Videos of him buying rags and alcohol at the same time. Pictures of him pacing in the lobby of the courthouse. His radical writings found at his place of work. He knew he was guilty. He did it for a reason.

Jowan swallowed so loudly the entire room could hear him as the jury was called back for their verdict. Anders sat still, unmoving, hard-faced for the cameras. If they didn't listen to his words then his actions would show them how he feels. They can lock him up, they can deem whatever they want as his punishment - but they will never strip him of his cause.

But sometimes emotion is not read like that. Sometimes one's body gets the better of them, words end up being more powerful than they had anticipated. Anders stood as strong as he could when they began to read the verdict, he needed to steel himself on the arms of officers holding him upright as the words were processed.

"Guilty on accounts of first-degree arson."

It was read plainly, there, in fine print. People gasped: little old women who adored him at the shelter he volunteered most of his time with, men who had relied on him for support and medical attention. He hadn't had as much higher education as most doctors had, which meant to say he had none, but he had learned on his own and used it to treat the undesirables. The people liked him.

Jowan shook his head, quickly moving through his papers as if he could prevent this even though the damage was done. Anders straightened himself, ready for the next few words that would really affect him. He had toned out through a lot of dialogue but this he would listen to.

"Sentenced twenty-three years to life."

He bit his lip, so hard that blood began to flush into his mouth. Strange, metallic flavors seeping through the soft skin. It took every fiber of his being to stay still, to not give them a reaction. He could cry later, he would cry later. Protocol was adhered to and Anders shut it out once more. Twenty-three years of his life. He would be fifty if he ever got out on time. His breathing was deep but the cameras or audience couldn't pick up on that, only the officers behind him.

And then he was being shuffled away. No words from him. No lasting cries for change. They had won to a degree, the shock had stripped him away of sound temporarily. He was lucky he hadn't been seen as treasonous for his calls against the government. Jowan said nothing. He didn't need to say anything - he was what the poor people like Anders get. Someone trying to practice law on people who don't matter until they can work their way up to those that do.

The waiting game began. Three days in this room. A week in another. Two bus rides across the state. Another week in a temporary cell. Anders craved for normalcy. He had had it only a few times in his life. These constant changes. Always moving. No warning. They eroded him, kept him quiet in hopes of being good enough to merit some type of system.

Not all the constant changes were bad though. On his fifth night in a holding cell they called him out, allowing him one phone call. There were two numbers he knew by heart. Two numbers he could call. Mind and heart debated for a few moments. Mind telling him to call Justice and let him know he's okay… heart telling him…

"Karl?"

The voice on the other end was muffled by something, "Holy shit, Anders?"

He pressed his tongue over the healing skin on his lips, "Yeah," this was a mistake, what was he supposed to say? Karl had given him enough hadn't he, he should do what's best and leave the poor guy alone, "I miss you," his hand shook as he leaned against the wall, the cord hitting him against his leg, "Did you hear?"

"I saw some of it," there was a long pause that let fear run its course in Anders' mind, "You should have told me, Anders. Dammit, why did you do it?"

He was in jail now, he should be tough, never show fear. But he couldn't maintain it, the tears began to roll down his cheeks as he struggled to get the words out, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry Karl. Please don't be mad at me, I just…" he choked on his words, "I just need you, please."

A pause, and then a sigh, "Anders, it's alright, I'm here for you. Shh, stop crying, you're going to be okay."

"There are people here who are going to kill me, Karl. They're going to rape me," he was in hysterics now, amusing to the guard watching him from afar, "Please."

"Shh," the voice was soothing, as if he was there as a body for Anders to cling to, "They don't let that stuff happen in prison. You'll be okay. Are you eating?"

Karl knew everything. He knew Anders went without meals on occasion, he knew what Anders needed, he knew what he wanted, "Yes. Oh, Karl, I wish you were here."

"And I wish you wouldn't do stupid shit without telling me," the voice was sharp, and then soft, "but it's done with now. And you're safe. I don't know how everything works, but I'll do some research tonight and figure out how to send you money."

"Oh, no, I-"

"Shut up and take my money," Karl smiled into his phone knowing Anders would remember it as a private joke of theirs, he dropped pasta into the boiling pot of water for his dinner, "How long are you in for, two years or something?"

"I thought you watched the trial on TV?" He didn't want to tell him. Him reading it or seeing it somewhere was easier.

"No, just the highlights they played on Channel 8, imagine my surprise," he took a moment to pour himself a generous glass of wine, "Is it more than that?"

Anders looked away, the officer was pointing to the clock, "I need to go."

"So soon?" Karl placed his glass down, holding the phone closely so he didn't miss a word.

"I love you, I'll talk to you… will you come visit me?" He was whiny, desperate, still a child.

Karl was older, wiser, calmer, "Of course I will. I love you too, And-"

The phone cut off and Anders looked at the guard who merely nodded. His time was up. It was back to his new world. He stayed quiet, not talking much in the temporary holding. No one talked much. Why make bonds when you're all going to be leaving soon anyways? This was Anders first time in prison, he had been in juvenile detention - but this was bigger, more serious, more problems that could arise.

His name was called and he was shackled. The ones on his wrists cut into the burns and reminded him constantly of his imprisonment. He was never handled too roughly, only enough to show him where to go. Two others were traveling with him in the strange bus. The windows were barred, a separation between the driver and them.

No one spoke. All he could do was look out the window, at freedom, trying to remember every single frame of it before it was lost forever. Cars zipped past them. Curious children pointing out the strange vehicle to their parents. The city-scape turned into suburbs, then into fields that stretched for miles.

Finally they passed their first sign that told them they were getting closer: Don't pick up hitchhikers.

Tall fences of barbed wire, angry watchtowers that peered into the recreational areas below them. People in beige uniforms milling around, some with orange pants, orange tops. It was a strange freedom of choice they must have had - which ugly color do I wear today? Several checkpoints stopped the vehicle, guards with masked faces staring at the new inmates.

Eventually the bus pulled around to a main entrance. Each of the three being transported was taken down and out of the bus, following closely behind the guard. Anders was in the middle. In front of him, a large man with a penchant for growling, to his back a pale male with thinly cut hair. Not a promising group.

"Sit."

It was an order. And in prison there is no room for debate.

Anders sat, squished between the two men. He wasn't the largest guy around, really he was rather slim and lanky. His height had helped him keep bullies away in school, but it meant nothing here. Lack of food throughout his life had made sure to leave its mark on Anders' body and he had an odd concave to his posture.

One by one they were called forward to be stripped and showered. Anders followed, unclothing himself for the male guard who seemed more interested with the baseball game on the television in the other room. The man opened Anders mouth, prodding around, moving to his arms and feeling for various reasons.

"Squat and cough."

This was normal. Something Anders had been familiar with in his time at juvy. He bent, long legs bringing him lower to the ground. It still hurt to cough, his lungs had the tiniest bit of ache to them yet. But he did what he was told.

"Stand under the water and wash your hair."

It was anti-lice shampoo. Anders had had lice before. Lying under the underpass, in alleyways, on discarded mattresses would do that to you. The water was cold, not ice cold but getting there. He shivered as he quickly lathered the cream and shoved it into his long hair. Usually it looked better but the showers were infrequent at the last few holding cells.

Even if it was cold he was still grateful for the opportunity.

With it done he was given a small towel to wipe himself down with and handed a new set of clothes. Prison clothes. One white tanktop, one pair of cheap underwear and the classic orange jumpsuit with a number printed on its back.

The officer threw him a pair of obnoxious sandals as well, neon orange to match the rest of the outfit. He folded the towel and gave it back, no words were shared. It had been too long for a man like Anders to go without speaking.

"Have you ever had suicidal thoughts, recently or in the past?"

The questioning was invasive and Anders didn't want to be honest with this blond officer but he tried his best anyways, "In the past… not now."

He scribbled something down on his clipboard as he grabbed a curly piece of his hair and lost himself to his work, "Sexuality?"

"Straight." Anders said it too quickly. The officer looked at him skeptically but didn't ask further. Yes Anders was technically in a relationship with a man. Yes, Anders technically enjoyed sex with men… but he wasn't about to get targeted for that. Pretending to like women should be easy enough - he had slept with women in the past before hadn't he?

"Are you a member of any known gangs? We will check for tattoos, so don't lie."

Anders turned his head, thinking seriously, "I was initiated into The Wardens a while back but nothing came of it and my foster dad made me leave." Justice pulled him out of the gang, the leader didn't care too much and he seriously doubted anyone would even recognize him now.

"Alright," he got serious for a moment when he turned for Anders, "In a few minutes I'm going to take you through that door and we're going to issue you your blankets, bedding, and room. You will also be given a cellmate. This is your first time in prison, correct?"

"Yes," Anders sounded small again and he hated himself for it.

"Some rules to keep in mind before your orientation: don't ask people why they're in here. The nicest guy you meet can be a murderer and the meanest a forger. Don't ask. Listen to what people want - try not to give them anything but if you can't help it, it's better to stay safe. Um," a blush crept to his cheeks for a moment, "also, if anyone propositions you for sex or coerces you into it you need to speak with an officer or the warden, Meredith will straighten it out for you."

Anders nodded, "Okay."

"Good, I'm officer Cullen, by the way. Do you have any questions before we leave?"

"I get a schedule, right?"

"Yes, breakfasts, worktimes, freetime, it's all planned out. It says your judge issued you to have mental health counseling as well, so you will be given permission for that."

"When do I get to have visitors?"

"Here," he passed a packet of papers to Anders, "When you're in your cell you can fill these out and turn them back in. They are visitor information forms and you can highlight who is allowed to visit and their relationship to you. Usually visitors can come in on Saturday or Sunday. They need to be screened beforehand though."

Anders nodded, trying to keep himself at bay, "Tomorrow is Saturday, can I have a visitor?"

Cullen sat back, observing the broken man, "Is it an immediate family member? If it's a mother or sibling or something like that they are allowed to come as long as they show verification. Girlfriends, friends and all other people require this form."

"Will I have access to phone calls?"

"When you meet the warden you can ask for one. Some people are intimidated by her but she means well," the officer stood and looked down at Anders, "Let's issue you your supplies."

A bar of soap. A bed mat. Two blankets. A roll of toilet paper. Cullen continued talking to the prisoner as if he's the new student at a high school. He explained how new supplies could be bought and most things were easy to come by here. They walked through the halls. Various people milled around, prisoners in their uniforms walking to and from work placements, officers patrolling everything carefully.

Cullen typed in a fast code that opens to a small room, he nodded to a man behind a covered screen. The doors buzzed and opened for the prisoner and the officer. He walked quickly as the doors slam shut behind him. People talked loudly, laugh loudly, scream loudly. No one stopped them. They played games at tables, shared cards, stretched themselves out on benches.

A few eyes flickered up to the new orange outfit, they looked him over. Everything was organized. Them. Us. Warden. Coterie. Carta. Dalish. Qunari. All the gangs were separate. Them. Us.

"Here, cell 254," Cullen unlatched the handle and the room opened.

One bunk bed, one sink attached to the toilet, one mirror scratched out to fog. One body laying on the bottom shelf, scraping off dirt in his nails with a spoon. He doesn't look up, doesn't acknowledge any of the people in his domain.

"Fenris will be your cellmate," the officer almost seemed sorry for the new inmate, "Lunch will be called in about an hour."

Anders stood in the doorway, now abandoned. Now feeling incredibly vulnerable. Carefully he placed his few possessions on the top bunk trying not to obstruct the other man's light. The bedroll flopped onto the metal frame and covered up the crude drawings beneath.

He felt a hand on his neck and he froze. The voice speaking to him is cold, "What is your name?"

"Anders!" His throat burned with the man's fist gripping it, fingers ripping into the flesh.

"Are you a fucking snitch?"

He shook his head, not knowing what it means only knowing that for the safety of his life he will never be one.

"What's your crime then?"

The words were still harsh, forceful, commanding. Anders felt himself buckling even though the man gripping him was shorter, "Arson. I burnt down a courthouse."

Then it was gone. The fiery grip and pain removed itself. He collapsed to the ground and grabbed at his sensitive throat, gasping for air as the other man paced above him, "I hate snitches. My last cellmate was a snitch."

"I'm sorry," he doesn't know why he's apologizing, only thinking that he should, "I promise I won't be like that."

"Good."

There was a knock on their cell door, a nice courtesy - meaning it was certainly not guards. Fenris stood to peer out the small window, deeming them okay he opens the door as if he has any right to be in its control.

Anders tried to raise himself but was interrupted with an eager handshake, "I can't believe you got another one, Fenris. I thought they would have learned."

"He is no snitch so he claims."

"Really?" The man is tall, large and bearded. He smiled and the scar across his nose crinkled, "Well isn't that just fantastic news?"

"Now, Hawke," a short man moved in, placing a hand on the tall one - a sign of friendship, familiarity, "play nice. This boy probably wants to get in and get out."

Anders let out a laugh, unintentionally but it caught their attention anyways. They stared at him, waiting for him to answer, "I have twenty-three years to life… getting in and getting out is not on my to-do list so to speak."

The larger man, Hawke, nodded as if he was impressed, "I only have seventeen more years and I can go in for a plea."

Officer Cullen's words resounded in his head and he looked down to his feet, still, he wanted to know, "Am I allowed to ask how long all of you have already been here?"

"No, we ask you questions first," the shorter man chose to sit on the toilet. Fenris the sink and Hawke on his cellmate's bed, "Why are you here?"

"Arson," he motioned to Fenris, "I was telling him that I burned down a courthouse and instead of surrendering like I should have I went through with the trial."

"Ouch," Hawke shook his head, "Yeah, that pretty much happened to everyone in here. Lawyers must make more money by telling you that shit."

Anders nodded in agreement, "I had one of the provided lawyers and they all pretty much suck so I've heard."

"Oh no," the shorter man interjected, "Hawke had a whole team of lawyers and even they couldn't save his stupid ass."

"It wasn't my fault!"

"You snorted coke the day of your hearing and they drug tested you. You knew they would test you. You tried selling to your prison guard too."

"Are you two… friends?" Anders pointed between the two.

The shorter one snorted, pointing to Hawke, "Yes, this dumbass is my best friend. I make sure he's not going to get his ass beaten."

"Yeah, that little prick over there belongs to me," Hawke grinned, "Varric can get you whatever you need, he's good for a few things even though he looks like useless shit. It's a nice setup around here - if you ever need money he can provide."

"At a price," he smiled, "nothing in here is for free, Blondie."

Blondie? The nickname was a nice gesture from these strangers. Kind, accepting. Perhaps his crime elicited some form of respect. He stared at the three men. Varric, short, scruffy, his eyes constantly moving, studying, gauging people. Hawke, bearded, scarred, scary, his shirt is bunched up at the sleeves revealing deep track marks reside in the vein but he still smiles as if he's known you all his life. Then, Fenris. Strong, emotionless, tattooed all over his body in thick black ink. The pattern is quite pretty, in a different world Anders would ask trace the lines. These were the people of prison - these were his new peers.

"You know what? I like you," Hawke moved to stand, his entire figure occupying the room in some way like it's larger than life, "you should stick with us. I mean we're the same you and I."

"You're an arsonist?" Anders shook his head, a baby in the eyes of other prisoners.

The man laughed, Varric chuckled and Fenris grunted, "No. We're both humans. We look out for our kind."

He lowered his brow. Race was something he was trained not to think about, not to question, not to lock on. He saw Varric, an obvious dwarf, as a shorter man. Fenris, a clear elf with pointed ears as just a strangely shaped human. But in prison they were all different. Them. Us.

"You either stick with Hawke or try to get in with the Wardens or Coterie," Varric smiled as he passed a look with his bearded friend. Their bond was strong, much stronger than Anders first realized.

Anders knows little, but enough, the Coterie are intense, violent… and he already has a somewhat spotted history with the Wardens. It all left questions to hang in the air. He decided to pull one down, "Why aren't you with the Carta?"

Varric smiled again, he was like a cat with that mouth, "They hate me. I hang out with a human and an elf - it makes me an outcast. Besides, the Carta looks for strong types, I'm more of a sneaking type. I mean I got here for tax evasion and fraud."

"You fucking liar," Hawke's permanent smile widened, "His main charge is for pimping."

"Alright. I guess that too."

"You're not going to ask, but I know you want to," Hawke raised his brows to Anders, "I'm in here for drugs and... I guess there were a few aggravated assault charges."

"Oh," Anders nodded, "that's rough."

"Yeah! It sure fucking is!" Hawke turned into himself again, one big goofy smile that could mean so many different things, he nods over at Varric, "Is the door clear?"

The dwarf stood to look outside the cell, "You're fine, Hawke."

Anders watched, amazed, as the man pulled out a single plastic bag from under his armpit. He carefully rubbed the plastic, sniffing it ceremoniously as if the drug inside had a smell.

"Oh, for the love of the Maker, Hawke, stop smelling that and just take the damn drug."

"It smells like Isabela," he mused as he pulled himself up to use Anders' bed as a flat surface. He turned for a moment, eyes lowering to an intimidating predatory state, "You're not going to snitch are you?"

Fenris' green eyes shot up and ground into Anders and he found himself trying to stumble out of the gaze, "Of course not!"

"Good," Hawke made a look of approval as he held his left nostril shut, sniffing in the cocaine loudly. He took the line of powder and breathed deeply wiping his nose gently only after he was positive the drug had been ingested, "Oh, sweet, sweet, Isabela."

"Why does she even stay with you?"

The bearded man's eyes closed as he pictured something in his head, something sentimental, and he turned back to Fenris, "Because we love each other. I mean, I know you have no idea what that is but we have something special."

"They probably have a deal where she's allowed to fuck whoever she wants as long as she brings Hawke his little medicine."

"Shut the fuck up, you asshole," it should sound serious, but it doesn't, it sounds mellowed and reconsidered, "She's coming tomorrow."

"How does the warden even let you have all these hours?"

"We have an arrangement. Meredith and I are good friends."

Anders shook his head, "If you're friends with the warden doesn't that make you a snitch?"

It happened quickly. Anders only felt his head slam up against the brick wall and a stinging sensation on his cheek, "You don't get to call me a snitch. We can be friends, you can do things for me, I can do things for you but you do not ever call me a fucking snitch."

"Yes!" Anders turned away from the hot angry breath, "Yes, I'm sorry."

Hawke let him fall from his assault and the smile returned, "Yeah, I think I do like you. You're not like these other guys who come in here acting tough… you know what you are, don't you?"

"I...?" Did he, and if he did then what was he? Someone who made a mistake? Someone who knows when the battle is lost? Someone who gives himself to those who are bigger, better, stronger than him?

"We can use him," Varric agreed, "He can help us get leverage with the other groups."

"How?" Anders asked this question as if he had already agreed to doing it when he's not so sure he has.

"Ah, Varric's pimping tendencies are revealing themselves," Hawke looked for him to continue.

"Well, I'm just saying. You're new, you're not bad looking, good body - already submissive. We can pass you around, get some of the other groups' supplies, details and then we won't seem so much as outsiders."

Hawke clucked his tongue, considering it, "Right, then we'd have four products to sell."

"Four?"

"I have drugs. Fenris can beat up anyone - he almost killed a guard a few months ago. Varric can get anything else including the wine he makes in our toilet which is pretty popular. And you," his smile was predatory again, "You can be sold for sex."

"No," Anders slinked back into the wall in disapproval. Shit, wasn't this what happened in every prison film? Someone like him always gets abused. It terrified him, "please, I don't want to."

"You don't?" The other human is genuinely surprised, "I could have sworn you were the faggot type."

It struck a nerve, a childish one that shouldn't have stung as much as it did, "Don't fucking call me that. You don't know me, I didn't mean to call you a snitch so don't call me a fucking faggot."

The group stared at him once more. Everything in jail had a category. Them. Us. He was a walking contradiction, a sign that said "fuck me" and a mouth that pleaded the opposite. But Anders had always been like this. With Karl he would beg the older man to take advantage and then cry about it in another's arms. Maybe he wasn't proud of it, but if he could try for at least a while to prevent that cycle - things would be for the better.

The door suddenly opened, loud mechanical movements and clicks. Hawke rolled his shoulders, nodding to Varric, "We'll talk about this during lunch."

Human and dwarf exited, smirking to one another with what could only be classified as haunting thoughts. Anders paused, looking down at his strange rubber shoes as men shuffled past the doors. Was he really so easy to read?

"You should eat before the food is gone," they were words from his roommate. The brooding elven man looked up, bright green eyes magnifying Anders' character, "the dining hall is just down to the left."

He felt his chest rise and fall in a quick manner, new places - damn new places! Anders was alone, no friends, no family. People wanted to sell his body, use him. There was no one to cling to, no one to hold and tell him what to do.

"Will you show me?" The question was pitiful. A man with a twenty-three year sentence barely raising his voice to the more advanced criminal. The weakness was glaring, so easy to hear, read and see.

Fenris cocked his head to the side, "Okay."

* * *

I have put waaaay to much time into researching stuff for this fic. Had to keep it legit for you guys and even now I'm worried there are bits that are unauthentic. But I really hope you're enjoying it and** I have so much fun writing things for THE BAE: CYANOPSIS** (who everyone needs to give some serious cred to on Tumblr... I'm talking AWESOME prisonAU ideas and pictures on that ace of a blog).

If you enjoyed it I would love feedback or comments - expect this length for future chapters and obviously more action (and romance *cough* in the coming ones). Love you all, as always. :)


	2. The Powder Queen - II

**Very dialogue-heavy chapter! But hopefully you all think it's fun dialogue! No spoilers on next chapter_ but expect sex_****.**

**Warnings: drug use and raunchy Isabela #poorCullen.**

**A/N: I am finally done with EXAMS! I really do apologize for the time I had to take off to *shudders* study and live in the real world. But I'm back! And done! And I'm really happy to bring you all the next chapter here. Thank you to everyone who has commented, supported, followed, drawn amazing inspiring art for (*cough* Cyanopsis *cough*). You're all amazing and have no idea how much confidence your words give me.**

**Thank you for reading and enjoy this next installment!**

* * *

Anders followed behind as they met with the tail-end of hungry prisoners trailing to the kitchens.

There was no answer to the millions of questions he wanted to throw at this man, only words unspoken. Words telling Anders to shut up and to stop bothering. Those tattoos caught his eye again and instead of memorizing the layout of the building around him for future use he found himself admiring the heavy ink. It twisted all over his body in a strange tribal pattern that gave no inclination as to where one began and where another stopped. To join the Dalish Gang one needed to commit to several face tattoos but this was nothing like what they wore.

It didn't symbolize anything, but it did make him beautiful, exotic. Elves were always considered pretty like that - oppressed by society in nearly all regards, but in private almost always lusted after. This elf was different, dwarves kept their distance, humans showed their respect, even the Qunari for most intents and purposes didn't bother him. Fenris was someone untouchable.

Fenris stiffened as Anders nearly toppled into him, distracted by the intimidating elf and the elegant way he moved. All Anders received in return for the misdemeanor was an angry shot of glowering eyes.

"Sorry," Anders mumbled as he usually did when he was more embarrassed for being socially incorrect than actually asking forgiveness.

They were at the back of the line. Round tables surrounded them to their left and a cold brick wall greeted their shoulders on the right. Anders turned, careful to how he observed everyone's faces, never looking directly at eyes, only bodies.

Segregation may have ended decades ago, but prison was not the rest of the world. Each table section held their respective race, their gang. Hawke and Varric sat alone at a table but they ate like kings - two trays instead of the normal one. Even if they were ostracized from the group it seemed they still had their ways to get what was needed.

It was easy to tell who was the head of each of these groups. The loud one, most muscular, the quiet one who merely grinned as the rest of his group chatted eagerly - they were all different in some way but they stood out together as leaders. Something in their eyes, a different color, a sharper bite.

"Move!" Anders felt a hand to his shoulder and a heavy push as the rest of the line had already heeded the command to the left to make way for the hulking Qunari.

He tried to collect himself, watching steadily as the large character took his place at the front of the line. Fenris was scowling, something that Anders figured wasn't uncommon for him, but it seemed more pointed than before.

"Who was that?" he whispered his question to the elf.

"The Arishok," Fenris only gave him a few words at a time, but it was enough.

The man took his food, moving loudly past the other tables and to the one that was marked with horns and rigid postures. Others at the table nodded with utmost respect when their leader moved to sit. It was incredible, something you would never be able to witness on the other side, loyalty freely given as if this man was a king.

"Well you're a new face!" A happy elf smiled at Anders from behind a hair net that kept slipping into her eyes, much too big for her.

It was a woman, which Anders was surprised to find in a male prison. She looked up at him with bright eyes and he figured he wouldn't get in trouble for being polite, "Yeah, I just got sent here today."

She followed him down the line while scooping out food for his tray, "Well that's exciting," she was humming. "you seem nice."

He wanted to laugh, the woman was in a room full of violent prisoners - and out of everything she thought he seemed nice. But he kept leveled, "Thank you, I'm actually surprised how open everyone seems here."

"Chocolate or sugar?"

Anders looked at the cookies she flashed him, "Sugar."

As if she thought her job was taking care of baby animals she placed the cookie on his tray with care, "I hope you have a nice time here. It can be really helpful and therapeutic for a lot of men if they let it be. Have you been assigned a job yet?"

"Not that I know of, no," he was holding up the line as he tried to finish the conversation.

"Well, I'll talk to my supervisor and see if I can't have you placed in my kitchen - we always need friendly faces!"

"Thank you…" he didn't know her name so his bidding seemed unfinished.

"Merrill!" She chirped her name like she was the happiest little hen. Why she worked in a prison when she could easily be hired anywhere else was completely beyond him.

He nodded his head, moving aside, "Thank you, Merrill."

At first he didn't move towards any one table, they were all full, or at least filling. Everyone sitting at them seemed to be familiar with one another - it wasn't something to easily walk into. He tried to keep his breathing lowered, keep calm. The new smells wrapped around him, putrid vegetables, rotted meats, watery potatoes. It was enough to have him lose his balance for a moment.

"Woah, are you alright, buddy?" Someone caught his arm, keeping him upright.

"Oh," Anders didn't know what to think, didn't understand why his body was reacting like this, "I'm sorry. I really didn-"

He looked up and met eyes with the human helping him up. Anders felt his body clench up and freeze, he almost tripped again onto this man.

"I should leave," Anders tried to untangle himself from the arm, "excuse me, sorry again."

"No wait," he was gripped strongly by the wrist, "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

Anders laughed nervously, he had always been a terrible liar. The teachers always knew when he was skipping class to snog someone in the library versus when he was truly sick, "Um, I really don't think so, man. I need to go."

He shook his head, "No. I know I know you… a party?" he scratched his chin, the slight scruff enunciating his motions, "Have you ever been to a rave hosted by my Wardens? I'll figure it out," his passive curiosity at least calmed Anders, "Maybe you're a friend of Oghren's?"

His jaw clenched at the mention of that name, "Nope, sorry, man. I've been told I have a common face before so maybe that's it?"

"Maybe," the man was unconvinced, "Well regardless, newface, or commonface, or whatever, I am Alistair - you can come to me if you ever need anything. Commissary doesn't come in? I'm fine handing out a loan, to a trustworthy guy."

"Oh," Anders nodded as he pretended to understand the lingo with confidence, "sure."

Their light was obstructed by something as a new body walked towards them. Anders felt the body move closer to him, whether it was good or bad he didn't bother to look, "'Ey, I'm going to just steal this one from you, Stairway."

"Don't fucking call me that, Hawke," the exchange was heated, quick, intimidating.

Hawke's grin twisted as it had a tendency to do, "Sure thing, pal."

Alistair observed him closely, clearly looking at the whites of his eyes. He was standing still, broad shoulders set squarely and permanently as if glued to his spot on the tiled floor. To his part Hawke did seem odd, so the intense scrutiny made sense. The man squirmed with a violent smile on his lips, one that he constantly sucked at as his jaw twitched without control.

"I'll see you two around then," the other man remained calm, considering Hawke's behavior expertly. He returned to Anders before waving him away, "You know where to find me, I suppose."

Hawke's thick arm wrapped around Anders' slim body, practically dragging him across the floor as the man excitedly drummed his fist across tables they passed. Anders was careful following at Hawke's side, holding his tray steady as he was brought to the near-abandoned table in the back - empty except for the three faces that had decided to adopt him.

"Varric!" Hawke was practically jumping as he reached across the trays to shake the man's hand like he was a business partner, "How the fuck are things going?"

"They're great, Hawke," the dwarf didn't seem interested in Hawke's behavior, he was busy scribbling numbers onto a sheet of paper, "Shit, I think I'm down a thousand with you."

"Because you suck." he inhaled deeply in the middle of sentence, "you suck at cards, man!"

"I'm great at cards, I think you just cheat," Varric rapped his pencil on the pad of paper.

"Let me see," Hawke didn't wait, taking his own initiative to grab the sheet and attack it with a second pencil. He was mumbling to himself. Both the elf and the dwarf paid him no attention, only Anders seemed engrossed by the change in personality. The calm, well-spoken man he had met was gone with this bouncing, gangbanger, "You never dropped the one back in November, your math is wrong."

Varric shook his head, "That powder is fucking with you, Hawke, my math is never wrong."

His laugh was loud, a few heads from other tables shifted, "I've dealt cocaine my whole fucking life, I think I know how to add shit."

The two friends continued to bicker over debts and math. Anders had never found interest in the subject - tuning it out was his specialty. And that's what he did. He looked down at the glomed mess of chemicals he was served. To be specific it was a tray consisting of the butt-ends of broccoli, a scoop of potatoes swimming in a paste, and a perfectly square slab of meat that shook as he prodded it with a plastic fork.

He was fed better at the homeless shelter.

Maybe the two weren't so different from each other. Both housed people that were slaves to the system, both treated those unlucky enough to find themselves in that situation like shit. No. It wasn't different at all. He began to drain the watery paste from the potatoes on his plastic spoon. Of course it was going to taste bad. His first foster family, an upper-middle class lot from the suburbs, had scolded him for judging his food before eating it. But it was obvious. Food rarely lies.

His stomach dropped as he took the potatoes into his mouth, the lumpy texture playing tricks on his mind as to its origin. Gagging was the first response, but he held himself, trying not to upset those around him - they had to eat the same garbage too, didn't they? It slid down his throat and he tried to eliminate all traces of it from his tongue by aggressively swallowing.

Anders had technically had worse. Running away from the juvy officers he once survived on actual trash he found in the forests for a whole week - licking discarded wrappers, peeling off the mold of bread with his nails to find the few unspoiled spots. Even that seemed a better alternative than this for some reason.

"You get used to it," Fenris was staring at him, those big green eyes watching the new prisoner pick at his food like a child.

"It's really not that bad," Anders lied through his teeth, but was surprised to find the elf so interested in him.

Fenris laughed in response, "No, it really is that bad. But after a while it loses its bite."

"How-" he stopped himself, he wanted to ask how long Fenris had been here, in jail, but an aggressively large man was positioned to interrupt that train of thought.

"Fenris, settle this for us," Hawke turned, the happy smile replaced by an angered frown, "whose math is right? It's mine! I know it's mine!"

Varric rose slightly his attitude now hardened, "Hey, calm down. Do you want them to test you, Hawke? Right before visitation? Sit down and eat your food, I'll figure out the balance."

"You'll cheat me out of my fucking money."

The dwarf shook his head, "What kind of shit is Isabela bringing you? Doesn't seem like the good stuff because you're treading a dangerous line, friend."

"Don't you fucking bring Isabela into this, she is-"

There was a pound on the table, and a stern growl from Fenris, "Calm. Yourself. Down."

Hawke breathed unsteadily, his face twitching slightly. His nose was running, eyes had a ring of red around them with pupils taking up a majority of the circle. At the warning his hands reached for his arms, scratching at them slightly.

"Is he alright?"

They all regarded Anders and his question. The other human nodded after a moment, seemingly forcing himself to sober, "Yeah, yeah. Yeah. I'm just going to go flush out my nose…"

His tablemates watched him move away, his tall figure moving slowly past a guard and into another corner of the jail. Anders knew those symptoms, not personally, but for a while he had been somewhat of an alcoholic - Justice put an end to that disaster - but he had known people at the shelter with similar mannerisms to Hawke.

"How much," Anders motioned with his hands, not wanting to say anything aloud, "is he taking?"

Varric took a deep breath before flipping the controversial balances back to the first page, "He usually doesn't take much - the man was a seller out there and he's one in here too. But," the dwarf scratched the side of his face, "Isabela should be coming tomorrow and he always gets stressed when she comes to… supply him."

"Oh," Anders nodded, accepting the criminal behavior as if it was normal behind bars. But it was something else. He felt bad, his head that told him to help everyone wanted to help this violent man he didn't even know.

"Yep," the dwarf began stacking the emptied trays - only Anders' remained half-full, "you know, Blondie, if you won't eat your food I'm sure Broody will take it."

The elf turned slowly, clearly disgusted by the petname.

"He can have it," Anders pressed the tray towards the pretty elf as if it was an offering.

"I don't want your leftovers, I am not a pet. I am not a beggar!"

Anders was taken aback, unsure of what he said or did to receive such a reaction. Varric pinched the bridge between his nose, "You two are worse than my whores today - you and Hawke both need to take the attitude down."

Fenris leaned backwards, almost pouting as much as Anders could make out, "I am not a whore either."

"That's right," Varric laughed to himself at a joke only he was making, "Blondie is going to be our whore."

Anders shook his head, confidence building as his passion took over, "Oh, no. I thought we covered this, I will be no one's whore and that's that."

"You say that now, but you don't understand all the perks you can have. These guys," he signaled to the men gathered around tables, "they're hungry. Some of them haven't had sex in years. You open yourself a little, smile, touch them? They'll give you anything."

"What could I possibly want that would equate to me whoring myself out?" Anders was disgusted. He knew girls who had to sell themselves, it wasn't something he thought should be romanticized. And regardless he had Karl and would remain loyal.

"Like I said anything," he emphasized this with a dangerous wink, "drugs, alcohol, cellphones, magazines, cigarettes, protection? You'll start to miss things."

He scoffed, "You really think I'll go and sell myself on the understanding I'll get a Twix bar out of it?"

"You already don't eat the food, I suspect you'll be singing a different tune later. And why fight it? You're good looking unlike these other sods, you can really make out well in here."

It made Anders pause, if only for a moment. But then reality sunk in. He was talking to a master manipulator, a fraud, a liar, a pimp. This man would do anything, could do anything to talk him out of his morals - that's why he was here. That's why everyone was here.

He couldn't trust anyone.

"If he doesn't want to sell his ass for people then let it go, Varric."

The elf stared at the new prisoner, seeing something that only registered somewhere deep within him and that he wouldn't even reveal to himself just yet. Varric took a glance between them and eased his plan of attack, "Ah, of course, Broody is going to educate me on selling people. He is the expert aftera-"

Fenris stood and everyone in the mess hall froze, subconsciously, they could feel it as the elf's anger mounted. He pointed at the smaller man, scowl permanent and threatening, "Don't you even dare, dwarf, or so help me."

Varric threw up his hands playfully, "Alright, alright, don't go ripping my heart out, please."

"You little-"

"Hey!" Anders turned to the returning presence, a somber Hawke, "Are you two fighting at my table?"

They each calmed, sitting down and attempting to return to the normalcy of what was a tumultuous first day for Anders. Varric observed his friend carefully, Hawke's face was contorted in pain, cheeks wet. Fenris took a moment to take the man's transformation into account as well.

"Feeling better?"

He collapsed into the heap of his own large arms, "Yeah," the response was muffled, troubled. His red eyes peaked out for a moment, "I need to go to fucking NA today and I really don't want to."

Varric reached out to pat Hawke on his arm, "I know, Hawke. But Meredith would come and drag you out of the room if you decided to sulk up there another day."

Several men stood up, and it was clear a clock rotation was taking place. Alistair continued past the table, nodding to Hawke who acknowledged the man and joined him. Anders stared at the two who had, only a few moments ago, shared a heated conversation and now seemed to be sympathetic of the others' feelings. It was a strange way to live.

"So, are you up for a round of cards?"

Anders wasn't sure if the question was directed towards him or Fenris but he responded anyways, "I think I need to see the warden today, and I'm not sure how that works."

"Ah," Varric nodded, "yeah, she'll drag you into her office, probably chastise you for your crime, try to scare you out of breaking any rules and give you a schedule she'll expect you to have memorized by heart in the next ten minutes."

"I mean I figured they'd have to be a hardass to be in charge of a prison."

"Oh, not really, you see Hawke is friends with her and because of that he gets away with a lot of shit. It's all a matter of perspective and if you're not an idiot and submit to the few things she expects of you, it can be an easy time."

He nodded and shifted his gaze to Fenris again who was unashamedly staring once again. The elf picked his chin up which accentuated the long twisting marks lining his neck and pointed to someone walking towards the table, "Guard. Probably for you."

"Thanks," Anders smiled to the pair before responding to the officer, even if they were manipulative, terrible people whose emotions were constantly unraveling at the flip of a coin, they were still fairly friendly people.

"The warden will have you now," it was the same blond officer from earlier. He didn't take notice of the elf or dwarf sitting alone.

Anders followed obediently, nervous about what this figure could look like, the type of person she would be. He hoped to beg a phonecall out of her, so he could beg Justice to visit him. Just to see him, touch him, it would make everything better after these past few weeks of being shuffled around like an animal off to the slaughter.

Officer Cullen continued to press several buttons and Anders had to show his badge at each checkpoint. The halls were nearly empty save for a few trusted prisoners sweeping the floors. The building was large too, larger than it seemed on the outside at least. They passed quite a few rooms purposed for various programs. There was a library encased in revealing glass, with a handful of men reading. A gym, also with easy vantage points where one could see everything happening. Some Dalish were playing a game on the court, with a guard watching uninterested.

Then they passed the classrooms, big boards on the wall, an alphabet written in large handwriting and a man enunciating his words. Hawke was hard to miss in the room next to it, his being always taking up copious amounts of space. It was clear he was coming off his high, his eyes were sunken, dejected. His thick hands ran through his hair nervously and Anders watched as Alistair rubbed his back affectionately.

"Here we are," the man didn't make anything too ceremonious, "the warden is a busy woman but I promise she cares about each prisoner."

Anders responded with a slight nod, "Thank you."

The officer knocked on the door and had Anders stand further away with his hands folded into each other. Cullen stood back as well when the door opened, greeting the warden with respect, "Here is the newest prisoner, Miss Stannard."

"Thank you, Mr. Rutherford, I will take it from here," her voice was gentle but there was still a layer of authority within it. She regarded Anders with icy blue eyes, but her face remained passive. In all accounts she seemed remarkable, pale face, pale blond hair. It was striking and demanded attention, even her posture seemed calculated and rigid.

Her hand moved to welcome Anders into her office. Already the room seemed different from the the rest of the prison. There was color on the walls, specialized photos, manicured plants, organized papers. A faint trace of lilac danced around the room as Meredith led Anders to an open chair.

"I hope you will find our facilities accommodating," she looked at a paper neatly squared on her desk, "Mr. Kristoff?"

"Yes, that's my foster father's last name," Anders shifted uncomfortably in the chair, unused to being referred to as such except on formal occasions, which, with his track record, were typically when he was getting in trouble for one thing or another.

"Excellent. Well may I please formally welcome you to our prison. We house many men, some who leave, some who return, rest assured there will always be a place for you within these walls until you have lived out your time."

Anders licked his lips carefully, contemplating, "Well I do have a lot of time to live, then."

"Certainly, your sentence was just for such an act of terror."

The words were sharp and they cut at Anders, he felt his teeth biting down on his tongue as the need to defend his actions grew, "I don't think it was an act of terror, per se."

"No? Then what would you call it? How is it any different from you killing children at a school to force a reaction?"

"What?" He couldn't help his emotions, "It's completely different! I never killed anyone and would never even dream of it. I created a symbol! It was a message of how cruel our justice system is and how many people will no longer stand for it."

She cocked an eyebrow, "You will do well not to raise your voice with me, inmate. We can either be friends or enemies here," she paused to take a sip of her coffee, "You see, I only know the numbers, the facts. I know everything that happens in this prison because I rely on people to trust me. All I know of you is your crime and from that alone I am able to pass judgement on the man you will be here."

Anders was taken aback, "You can't judge me on some pretense. I am proud of what I did and would gladly stand behind it."

"And prison is a worthy price then?" She let out a light laugh, "We will see how that stance changes won't we? Until then I will have my eye on you and I don't want any conspiring against my guards, no prison riots and absolutely none of your riling them up. Hopefully we will be friends. Perhaps I can offer you that phone call you asked Mr. Rutherford for?"

"I…" she signaled to the phone on her desk and he caught himself wavering, "would you allow it?"

"I would, I like to take care of you boys," her smile was just as predatory as the prisoners not even a few feet away, "Please, call your foster father and ask him to come visit you. I might even be able to help arrange transportation."

"Really?"

She merely handed him the phone in response, "Press nine first and then dial the number," she stood, "I'll leave a moment to give you privacy."

Privacy was now a foreign word to Anders but he appreciated it, taking the phone greedily and not even waiting for Meredith to leave before he chanted out Justice's number. It rang ominously the first few beats and he bit his lip in anticipation for one of the only people who cared of him to answer.

"Hello?"

It was Justice. Gruff, annoyed Justice. Anders couldn't contain his smile as he listened to everything in the background, music playing, Justice's one Sex Pistols album, and a TV humming the voice of Jeff Probst on Survivor. He and Justice had been used to this schedule. Anders away at the shelter during the day and at night coming home to watch whatever TV show the pair was currently invested in.

"Hello? Anyone there?"

Anders straightened, realizing he hadn't said a word, "Oh, Justice! It's me, it's Anders."

"Anders? Shit," he placed something down on a table and it was loud enough to muffle through the phone, "are you okay, are you alright? Anders, tell me everything."

"Things are okay," he smiled as the other man fussed over his well being, "I just got my first phone call at the new facility here… they'll let you come in to visit tomorrow if you can."

"Do you want me too?" The ambient noise on Justice's end died down, he likely turned down the volume on both appliances.

Anders nodded, even though Justice couldn't see him, "I would really, really, love it if you came. I just need to see an old face."

"Are you sure you want to see my old face, though?"

He couldn't help but smile, "Yes, I'm sure. I have to fill out some papers to have Karl visit but since you're immediate family you only need to bring your I.D."

"I'll be there, I promise. Are you holding up okay, is this really the first time they've let you call?"

Little lies don't hurt anyone, "Yeah, this is the first time. I've finally gotten used to the system a little bit, but this is my first day at this prison, so it's like starting over all again."

"Different from juvie?"

That got a laugh out of Anders, "You couldn't imagine. The barbed wire is over ten feet tall, all the doors require a badge with your face and number on it, there are guards everywhere. Justice, I seriously miss your leftover night."

"The food is that bad?" Hearing Justice chuckle made him even happier.

"Terrible stuff. My cellmate is crazy too, some elf covered in tattoos. I've also been told to pimp myself out by a former pimp and watched a guy snort coke on my bunk. It's all quite interesting."

"You stay safe now, you hear? I don't know how Karl would react to any of that."

"I know, I know… going to just do my time. Maybe finally learn Tevene like I've wanted."

Justice took a moment to light a cigarette, Anders could hear the lighter ignite, "I promise to visit you as often as I can, kid. You're all I have."

"Thanks, Justice," Anders tried to savor that collected voice, "don't forget about tomorrow, okay?"

"I wouldn't dream of it! Now, go eat some shitty prison food and don't forget to tell me how much you miss me."

"I won't. Bye, Justice." Meredith reentered the room exactly on cue, smiling politely as Anders held the phone closer to himself.

"See you tomorrow, Anders."

He handed the phone back to Meredith slowly, making sure he had turned it off correctly, "Thank you for letting me call ahead."

"Of course," she paused to straighten the one piece of paper before her again, "it was a good conversation?"

Anders nodded.

"Lovely, well with all that out of the way I'm obliged to give you your schedule. You've been deemed by the courts in need of counseling so that is marked on there, but other than that we have yet to give you a job assignment…"

"Oh, the elven woman who works in the kitchens mentioned something about me working with her?"

"Did she?" Meredith mumbled something to herself, "Well I can fit that in then and things should work out well." She typed into her computer as Anders waited quietly until the printer hummed with a new schedule.

He thanked her as he observed the structured day. It seemed he would wake earlier but have more freetime throughout the afternoon hours. At least it was something. Not knowing what would come next was more worrisome than having someone plan your life for you.

She responded with a few lasting remarks but Anders was already in another world where he eagerly awaited Justice's visit. He was escorted back to his cell block where he spent the remainder of the day playing cards with Varric. The dwarf was intimidating and dangerous but he was good enough company.

At some point Fenris joined as well, laying down a few candy bars to up the ante of the game. Anders had nothing to contribute, but he didn't win anyways so it didn't seem to bother either of the other players. The time passed slowly, but it was passing. A few Wardens regarded interest in the game and since the skill level was therefore being raised Anders was forced to sit out and watch.

But it was nice to be surrounded by people. Strange for those people to be prisoners, but nice regardless for interaction.

Eventually Hawke returned before the dinner hours, but his mood had dipped even lower and everyone save Varric did well not to bother him. For his part the dwarf did seem to care, whispering things to Hawke and patting him on the back. Anders stayed put and only involved in his own business, answering a few questions about his crime to those who had interest but really going through the motions.

His schedule, which he had memorized rather quickly with so little to occupy himself with, said he wouldn't begin any work until Monday, meaning he still had a few days of freedom. Or as free as it got in a jail. As the dinner hour came and went Anders found himself alone in his bunk for the first time that day. The walls weren't decorated, there were no naked women plastered next to his bunk like the cell next door had. Fenris kept things plain, simple, but at least it was clean.

Anders stared at the space he had next to his wall, picturing what he might decorate with. There were the obvious things, like photos of Justice and Karl. But he wondered if prison would ever allow a grown man to decorate his wall with cat pictures - surely it wasn't Fenris' style. Anders did love the creatures though, how soft they were, their big eyes. For a long time he had a cat that he took everywhere with him. Ser Pounce A Lot, but their time was limited like it was with most people in his life.

"Fenris?" There was a bang on the door and then a shuffling of keys as someone went to open it, "Fenris!"

"He's not in here," Anders showed himself to the confused guard, "not sure where he is at the moment actually."

The guard stood back and rubbed his long goatee, staring scrutinizingly close at Anders' face as if the man was hiding something, "Fenris got a roommate?"

"Yeah, I'm Anders."

"Anders, huh?" The guard stared at him, then looked at the outside hallway behind him, his actions careful and watchful, "you're brand new to the prison system?"

"Yes, sir."

"Interesting," he looked to the floor then back at Anders, "You know, you don't look like some of the other fellows in here. You're not ugly."

Anders creased his brow, unsure how to respond, "Thank you?"

"You're welcome… my name is Office Alrik, if you need to report something I'm in charge of the night watch."

"Okay," Anders responded simply, cautious about what he said to the authority figures.

Alrik smiled cruelly, as if he were scheming a plot, enough that it made Anders shiver, "I'll see you around then. Sleep well, Anders."

And with that he was gone, but quickly replaced by an angered Fenris. He slammed the cell door behind him, which most likely was a violation of some rule somewhere. Not so much as a glance was bothered on Anders as the elf stormed to their small sink, splashing water onto his face.

Anders was feeling lucky today, "Is everything okay?"

Fenris grunted in response, wiping his face on a towel from under his pillow, "My matters do not involve you, I'm turning off the light."

"I was going to read the jail manual here, actually."

The elf was quickly poised at the side of the bunk as if he might attack, his green eyes aflame and shining like a cat's, "I'm turning off the light now."

"How about five minutes at least?"

Fenris turned back, slowly, "Are you so ignorant you are unaware as to how this all works?"

"I just think if we're going to be sharing a room and all we should be able to compromise on some things… at least let me read the foreword of this thing."

"You think you're so special with your manual? Mocking me?"

"I'm not mocking you," Anders shook his head but the conversation was over and the lights were off. The films he had seen spoke to him, told him to fight for himself and not back down. But perhaps it wasn't worth it. Instead he laid his head back onto the hard pillow, and tried to will sleep to find him.

And it did. It met him with radical ideas, it analyzed his day and everything that had happened and prompted him with what he should have done differently. But more importantly it let him dream and escape - he always loved dreaming. He found himself free, in a world without oppressive regimes and instead with friends and loved ones.

There were cats too. Lots of cats.

But it was a dream that let him feel safe and ignore his surroundings. Fenris didn't snore in the night and it was nice to be surrounded by the quiet. The morning came and it was clear there was going to be no such thing as sleeping in anymore. Everyone awoke with a buzz of the doors. Fenris was quick to rise, not waiting for Anders to follow or even wake as he took his towel and shampoo bottle out of the room.

Anders took his time to stretch his legs out and rub his eyes. The ground was cold and he found himself actually yearning the hideous shoes he had been given. He didn't have any cleaning products with him, but he had a towel and that was enough to at least cool off with. Without a guide he was on his own to figure out where the showers were, but the line of men cramming into one area was easy to spot.

He waited patiently behind a rather large Qunari. Some of the men began stripping in line and Anders couldn't help but assess them as they moved forward. Everyone was rather well-built in prison, without much to do most of the men have devoted themselves to the weight room. The beard walking past him was unmistakable and Hawke yawned loudly while moving in front of several people, to the head of the line without so much as a question from anyone.

"Isabela's coming today, right, Hawke?" An eager elf was biting his lip behind Hawke.

"Yes," Hawke grinned widely, "Isabela is coming to visit everyone."

Several people broke out into smile at that news and Hawke began to strip down. His body was strong, hairy and scarred. There were several strange cuts near his wrist and throat but most men here had been in violent fights it seemed, so perhaps it wasn't so unusual. The line moved as several men exited, Fenris in particular.

"There's still warm water?" Hawke called to him.

"Maybe if you woke up quicker you'd always know for sure."

The man scoffed, but he seemed to be in a much better mood as he entered the shower hall. There were no guards, in fact there were no cameras either, only a heavy shrouded steam that covered most of the men, save their faces, as they stood above the faucets - the only ones who were comfortable with the setup were the dwarves.

"Can I borrow some shampoo?" Anders figured it safe to ask Hawke of all people.

He was quickly handed a bottle from somewhere else instead. The large Qunari that he had been waiting behind smiled widely.

"Oh, thanks," Anders looked up at the friendly man, taking the fresh bottle that the oxman probably didn't need anyways.

Hawke swiped it from his hand, giving it back to the Qunari, "He's not interested, Bull."

Anders turned, offended, "Excuse me, but-"

"Here, use mine," he produced his own bottle for Anders hands, "you'll owe me, but at least it's better than owing him."

"Why does it matter who I owe? You're not my boss."

"I'm looking out for your best interest," Hawke smiled as he pressed the gel into his hair and began spreading it around, "you said you didn't want to be a whore, so I'm making sure you're not going to be a whore. A thanks would be nice."

"I…" Anders looked around the showers and at the faces of the men eating in his body. He felt exposed as he raised his arms to shampoo his own hair. Maybe Hawke was right, and at least he was a human and looking out for him rather than a different race, "Yeah, thank you."

"You're welcome," he grinned. He turned again and began soaping himself down with a yellow bar. Once more he handed it to Anders when he was finished, Hawke couldn't help laughing when it exchanged hands, "Don't drop it now."

"Real mature, Hawke," Alistair peaked over a shower head across from them.

"Aw, thanks, Stairway," he looked up to watch the reaction.

"You're a piece of shit, you know?"

Hawke grinned as he cupped the water to run it down his balls, "Ah, I know, one day I'll be shanked in my bed."

"Exactly."

The shower was, for the most part uneventful from that moment on. Just men cleaning themselves and moving forth with their lives, but there was still a moan here and there. Mostly from personal stimulation, which no one batted an eye towards, but Anders could have sworn to see someone on their knees at one point or another - he didn't dare to stare. Regardless it was most likely a factor of his paranoia.

And then the waiting game began. There was poor food once more. Pointless bickering. Card games in which he lost horribly. Eventually Hawke was called down for his visitor, but the clock kept ticking and worry ate at Anders. Worry that Justice had forgotten or couldn't afford the ride.

As he was about to fold on another game his name was read over the loudspeaker. And if he didn't jump with excitement no one would tell him. He needed to ask directions for the visitation room, but he found it easy enough. People sitting at tables, some laughing, some stern, some crying. But all were men from the prison and their loved ones. There were two sunken couches sat in front of a television running kid shows where three elven children played. But other than that the room was fairly simple.

Anders scanned the room before entering, getting distracted by the majesty that was the vending machine lit up in the corner. But then he saw the face. Justice's. He couldn't help but stand there and watch as Justice played with his fingers in anticipation just like he had that whole day. Eager to run into the man's embrace, Anders moved, but he was stopped for a brief moment yet again by the sight of Hawke.

Surrounded by four people the man sat with a young, dark skinned woman on his lap. He openly enjoyed this contact, vocalizing his delight with her as she shook her body on his leg, practically dry-humping him. The only other boy accompanying the group slapped Hawke's wrist, angried. He looked similar to Hawke, but was clean shaven. It was clear they were brothers at least.

Anders' head turned as he watched Hawke slip his hand into Isabela, she moaned loud enough for several heads to turn. Feeling awkward for watching as much as he had, Anders entered to greet his visitor.

"Justice!" He fell into those arms and those arms wrapped back around him.

"Anders it's so good to see you," his voice was muffled by the collar of Anders' shirt.

He sat down with Justice at the table, unable to contain his emotions, "I'm so happy you're here," his voice cracked like a prepubescent boy as he choked on emotions, but Justice didn't mind, merely smiling like his son needed.

"I know I'm not the best parental figure but you know I'd do anything for you if you need it."

Anders looked at Justice, wanting so badly to touch him again to know it was really him, "It's been so long already, of just being carted around and thrown in different cells."

"Well, now you have to tell me everything."

"Of course! Maker's breath I need to tell you about this morning, it was -" he stopped, noticing Justice's attention was caught on something else. He turned as well.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, we need to do a search again," Officer Cullen was standing awkwardly next to Hawke's table.

"What is the meaning of this?" Hawke lowered his gaze.

"Oh it's fine, baby," the woman leaned into him, pressing her body firmly against Hawke's chest, "of course I'll put on a show for this man."

"I fucking love you, Isabella," Hawke growled, still staring lovingly, one of his other visitors made a disgusted noise and the anger was back, "Carver do you have a problem with Isabela? I swear, one of these days -"

"Hey! No fighting while mom is here," the other female spoke up, confirming that the other three people at Hawke's table were family.

"Sorry, Bethany," Hawke mocked, illustrating himself as the older brother, "Sorry, mother."

"Be nice," Isabela swatted at him as she stood.

Office Cullen rubbed his hands awkwardly, "Sorry, some people up front just think they saw something and we need to check. Spread your legs please."

"Oh, shame on you," Isabela looked into the man's eyes, "only Hawke can talk to me like that."

His blush reddened up to his ears as Officer Cullen coughed something in his throat. The woman began to giggle as his hands brushed her down. Her clothing couldn't have been acceptable in any setting let alone a jail full of horny men: low cut shirt, belly out in the open, booty shorts short enough to be considered Maker knows what. She swung her hips as he brushed down her thighs.

"Oi! Stop it!" She laughed like a schoolgirl, "You're tickling me."

He moved his hands away, abruptly, "You're clean, she's clean… I, um," his face was a flamed red as he pulled away, "Sorry for that…"

"You should be," Hawke was loud, boisterous, "how dare you question daddy's little princess."

Anders turned his head away immediately after overhearing that line, Justice couldn't contain his interest, "They just allow that? You know the system needs to be remodeled when a girl can walk in like that."

"A lot of the guys don't see women very often, or get to touch them," he felt himself recounting Varric's words.

"That's why there's all that prison rape - sketchy stuff," Justice took note of Anders' unease, "Hey! But enough about that, let's talk about you!"

"Why don't we talk about you instead? My life is on the boring and sad side right now," he tried to stay positive around Justice, better not to give him much worry as he's all alone now.

Justice clucked his tongue thinking of something to say, "Well, the girls at the shelter are trying to prepare a care-package for you."

"I bet Lirene is the one who started that, Maker bless her."

"Oh, and to kick off the millions of care-packages I'm sure you'll get," he handed a small cardboard box to Anders, "I got it approved before I walked in since your commissary won't come in for another week… Karl put this together and dropped it off for you, I tried not to look but they searched it when I got here, so I apologize."

"Don't apologize," Anders' face lit up like it was a Year's End festival gift. Karl always knew what to get him. The box had several books: Feminism Is for Everybody, Savage Inequalities, The End of Poverty, Teaching to Transgress. It was the social justice warrior's dream reading list. Anders paged over each book, they were brand new and even smelled like a book store.

"I won't lie, when you're done with the Jonathan Kozol one, I want to borrow it," Justice took up one of the books while Anders searched the rest of the box.

There were three magazines included, each from Anders' favorite: Men's Health. He wasn't particularly interested in fitness or diet, but the pictures were nice to look at, and the articles weren't poor either. The box continued to reveal a package of chapstick, a moisturizer Anders had always stolen from Karl in the past and a heavy bound journal with a note inside.

"He says he wants you to write him everyday what happens in that journal. Karl is a good guy, you know?"

Anders blushed, still unused to openly talking about his boyfriend with Justice, but it was true. Karl really was the greatest thing to happen to him. Anders shook his head, "Justice you need to talk to Karl and tell him how amazing all of this is, really."

"I will, of course," Justice began playing with one of the chapsticks, "he says he's coming to visit me every week, to check on me. He even asked if he could pay my rent each month - I said no, naturally. I told him he should be checking in on you."

Now Anders was acting like a schoolgirl, "He did all that? That is so like him, you know, he always asks about you."

"I think he wants to take care of me for you, and it's appreciated."

"Well, I do worry everyday about you. Who will do your laundry?"

Justice grinned, "I'll live. Hey, I'm sorry I don't have any fancy gifts for you or anything. I'm doing the best I can to get enough money for your commissary."

Anders shook his head again, "Justice you really have done more than enough - this is all my fault and I don't want you to pay for my mistake."

"No, I'm supposed to support you and I will. It'll all be okay," Justice rubbed his hand on his chin, "I'm actually applying for a job this week."

"That's great!" Anders began piling his items back into the box, "Where?"

"They have a spot open down at one of the clubs, they need a bodyguard."

"Are you sure you'll be okay with that, you haven't been very active as of late."

"I know, I know," he brushed the concerns away, "I just need to do something to make sure you're okay."

"Justice, I don't know how many times I can say I'm sorry, but I'm really, really, sorry."

He smiled, "It's alright, Anders."

"Five minutes until all visitors will be asked to leave."

Justice looked up, "I should probably go and call my taxi before everyone starts running for the phones. Remember, as soon as that money comes in I want you to call me every week, we'll have a nice little chat like a normal family."

"Oh of course, but don't you dare give me any Survivor spoilers."

"Better yet, I could watch the show and tell you what's happening over the phone, you always love my descriptions."

"Well, it sounds like a plan then," he felt warm, happy, excited for the first time in a long time. Before Justice was even half way out of his chair Anders lunged for him, hugging him as if he might never get the opportunity again.

For his part, Justice cupped the back of Anders' head affectionately, playing with the loose ponytail, "It'll all be alright, Anders, I'll always be here for you."

Their embrace lasted longer than either of them had expected, and that was good for both men. Anders stood a moment more as he watched Justice leave, off into the real world. Hawke was ending his visit as well, with one crying old woman, an annoyed brother, a horny girlfriend, and a talkative sister. The man had his hands full it seemed.

"Ma' it's going to be alright, I'll see you next week."

"I know," the woman stifled her tears, "I know, darling, but I just get so upset thinking about you living here, we are just so, so proud of you, you know?"

The sister held her mother upright, "We really are, Hawke, you look so good and healthy. Ten years clean! Does it feel nice?"

"It feels great, Beth," he smiled with all the confidence in the world. All criminals could lie, some better than others - Hawke was the king. He grabbed Isabela harshly around the waist, "You better behave yourself, Missy!"

She squealed as he dug his beard into her breasts with kisses. Anders watched with awe as the man bit onto a plastic bag hidden deep within the woman's bra. It was heavy with an ample packaging of loose powder cocaine. How she hid it was beyond him. The man continued to sneak the bag out of her chest and into his mouth, - swallowing loudly as she continued to giggle.

Not even his own mother noticed.

* * *

I am having so much fun with this story! Hope you're all enjoying it too. I have a lot of plot points that I am going to get through... I know we're all here for Fenders and IT WILL HAPPEN but like all Fenders fics we need that agonizingly long build-up to those two. It shall happen though, I promise.

**For now if you enjoyed please comment and keep me going**! I hope to be updating more frequently but these chapters keep getting longer and longer so stick with me and we'll keep having fun! XD


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